Submarine

The last British virgin.

The accusations of Wes Anderson-ry will surface just after the opening credits, so it’s best to meet them head on: In Submarine, director Richard Ayoade does, in fact, focus on a sullen adolescent who inhabits a perpetually overcast world (to be fair, it is
seaside Wales). Good-natured young Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts) stumbles
in his overreaching attempts to connect to others and ends up
distancing himself all the more (he gleefully tries on affectations to
underscore the rift). But this adaptation of Joe Dunthorne’s
semi-autobiographical novel plays with the restrictive “coming of age”
genre, which, after all, represents an experience that is annoyingly
universal.

Oliver’s raison d’être is to get laid and to keep his family intact, and despite the high-brow aspirations of other outsider heroes (Max Fischer of Rushmore, say), weren’t our
junior-year goals so easily summarized? God is in the blemished
details, starting with Jordana, the bullish and eczema-stricken object
of Oliver’s affection. Pretty in a pouty-scowling kind of way, she has a
tendency to bully the fat girls and Oliver in equal measure—in short,
not the most easygoing schoolyard siren. Meanwhile, Ma and Pa Tate have a
low-libido union that gets explored in uncomfortable detail by Oliver
himself. His look at their marital malaise gets a cathartic boost from
New Age guru and neighbor Graham Purvis, a seedy blast from Mrs. Tate’s
past (deftly played by Paddy Considine, who saves the role from annoying
caricature).

In fact, it is
Ayoade’s refusal to give Jill and Lloyd Tate the John Hughes “parents
just don’t understand” treatment that makes Submarine worth the
time. As Jill, an aged-up Sally Hawkins balances neurosis and
likability; Noah Taylor gives Lloyd, a depressed marine biologist (and
disgraced science TV presenter) heft. When gaunt Lloyd giddily presents
his son with a mixtape meant to encourage a burgeoning romance, and when
he quietly shuts down Oliver’s suspicion that Jill is stepping out on
the family, there is a true sense that Dunthorne’s tale is actually
about three people. True, Oliver’s narcissism keeps us on track for the
dull epiphanies that seem so sharp at 15, but when his tried-on
pretenses wear thin in the face of his first relationship and he falls
short of model boyfriend, he’s in good company. There are no bad guys in
the Tate household, just role models who embrace the avoidant approach.